Gord

2026-06-18 03:27 pm

Never look a fish hook in the mouth,
And never have any doubt,
I'm fighting my way back home.

But,
Like radiative waves, 
I'm mostly out...

And I'll never own a house.
And I'll never have a spouse, 
And I'll never upturn her frown. 
Like oceanic waves, 
I'll mostly drown, 
And I'll never bank on being saved. 

And I'll never look at a fish hook another way,
Like the metal corrodes my face,
I slowly resolve and stay,
And as it pulls me under,
I'll let it take me away.

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-06 12:00 am

Bringin' it on 'ome

 One minute,
 We're jokin' with,
 The next, Pokin',
 One another.
 Sendin' silly Sunflowers,
 Exchangin' banal banter,
 Fixin' up homesteads,
 In Farmville;
 On Facebook.

 Then in a 'shanty town' ,
 On a mud-strewn hillside,
 In Brazil.

 Or down on the Delta,
 In the bayous and levees,
 On the Mexican Gulf.

 In the centre of Brisbane,
 'The Sunken City',
 In the Sunshine State.

 Out in the suburbs,
 And the surroundin' countryside,
 In the vast areas of deluge,
 Of Queensland.
 In Pakistan,
 And Haiti.

 'Friends', are fightin',
 For their very lives;
 Through no fault of their own.

 Dusti Rodes (2012)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

HOT BUTTERED TOAST

 Hot buttered toast,
 Thickly spread.

 Hot buttered toast,
 Best made,
 With thick white bread.

Dusti Rodes (2009)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

STORMY WEATHER

 Them ol' rain clouds is rollin' in.
 Thunder is brewin',
 Lightin' is gatherin' in the sky;
 It sure is lookin'
 like we is gonna have
 one hellava storm,
 Bye'n'bye!


Dusti Rodes (2010)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

THE STAND-OFF

 The other day,
 I challenged
 the World,
 To a gunfight.

 It told me
 It couldn't come.
 It was too busy,
 Circling around the Sun.

 Poor excuse, I reckon.


Dusti Rodes (2007)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

FLOWER POWER

 Bougainvillea,
 Stretching up out,
 Seeking the sun.
 In a south-facing window.

Dusti Rodes (2011)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

WOLFGANG

 Harley riding,
 Snuff taking,
 Mah Jong playing.
 German Hell's Angel.
 Holding court daily,
 From his pool-side seat.

 The family man,
 Playing with his boy.
 Joking with his wife.
 Making instant friends,
 Of the strangers that he meets.

 Sharing a day to themselves,
 Doing nothing in particular,
 But everything in general.


Dusti Rodes (2009)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

L'HIVER APPROCHE

 Il fait chaud.

 Curtains, like the evenings,
 Being drawn earlier.
 Cyclamens, on the window sill,
 Leaning towards the light.
 Dark before dusk.
 Leaves falling by the second,
 Whipped up by the winds.
 Temperature droppin'
 With the sinkin' sun;
 That spends most days,
 Hiding behind clouds.
 Half moon present
 In the failing light
 At four thirty.
 And it's not yet November.

Dusti Rodes (2010)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

THEY'RE PLAYIN' WITH THE CLOCKS

 They are playing with the clocks,
 Stealing our time.
 Precious moments, passing us by.
 What was it they said?
 Spring forward,
 Fall back.

 They're playing with the clocks again.
 Messing with our minutes.
 And our minds.
 The British Summer has gone.
 It's certainly a mean time,
 In Greenwich.

 Still light in the morning, for now.
 But dark long before dusk.

Dusti Rodes (2009)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

MAKING DUMPLINGS

 Two parts flour,
 To one part fat.
 (Fancy that!)
 Add a pinch of salt
 And some pepper.
 Then some water,
 Cold is best.
 Finger it gently
 Into balls.
 Making sure it's not too wet.
 Stick'em in the stew,
 For twenty minutes.
 Then enjoy.
 Just like you did,
 When you were a boy.

Dusti Rodes (2009)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

The Illustrated Man
 

 Some called him, 'freak',
 For openly inviting public critique,
 Of his fabulously illustrated physique.
 But he is not so unique.
 Merely a strutting peacock,
 Soaking up the summer sun
 On some far distant shore.
 Nothing more.

Dusti Rodes (2010)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

In a Japanese Vein

 Koi

 Fisherman,
 Solitary, seated,
 Beside the endless water.
 Wherein the single specimen
 Silently swims.
 Casting a line that leaves
 No trace on the still surface.


 Bonsai

 In Japan, it is Bonsai,
 In England, it is August.
 It will soon be the Fall.
 In both.

Dusti Rodes (2011)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Memories of Menorca

The solitary star
The lone gull
Lack of light
dark and deep
Guarded by the lion-dog
In two-tone green and black and white
Part Chihuahua, part Pekinese.

Sunrise over Citudella
Purple and pink
Blues and browns
Age old ruins
Built of rocks
That are tumbling down.

Out of the stillness
Came a rustle
The wind whispered "Morning"
Gull winging, effortlessly
Sparrows busying in their daily task
Of feeding their families.

No different from other mere mortals
Who stand and observe
Through peephole portals
On life below and above.

Pylons, all in a line,
Taking power to the people.
John Lennon would be proud.

Illuminated cars, kerb crawling
At dawn's half light;
Wondering whether to switch off
As it is no longer night.

To hell with sunrise
Watching the clouds come up,
Shrouding the stars
With their whiteness
From the deep dark blue
Of Menorcan night.

An old boy, reminds me of myself,
Lone party goer, maybe?
One hell of a walk
From Cala Forcat
After our session at Night Fever.
Sun rises over Citudella
And Cala Blanes.

Rabbits running,
Ants busy, busy;
Relaxing perhaps,
For a jam sandwich
Carelessly cast away.
Before the heat forces
Them to siesta,
On a Menorcan morning
At the end of June.

A lone songbird,
Chortles its wakeup tune;
My bag, bathed in Menorcan sunlight
Casting shadows of strangest hues
The old currant bun
Promising a day of brightness.

Painted by light,
In Nature's brightest colours,
The single rock on the lawn
Looking like a monolith
From eons past.

A donkey, braying,
Radio, playing
People, singing,
And speaking in Spanish.
Then, Rick Astley,
In English.
Never going to give you up.
Menorcan memories.


Dusti Rodes (2002)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Spoilt for choice - Sainsbury’s Saga

I think I'll have fish today.

Fillet of fish.
Served in a dish.

Probably be nice
With a portion of peas;
Don't want that one, though,
Too many E's.

Beluga caviar,
Cor, isn't that taking
Housewife’s choice
A smidgen too far?

Tuna in tomato sauce
Or shall I have
Sunflower Oil?
Here's one in brine
That'll do just fine.

Now, do I want it,
In chunks?
Shall I have it in steak?
Maybe I should just settle
For a nice piece of Hake.

Have it fresh, shall I?
I could have a packet,
But then again,
Maybe a pie.
But then will it be,
John West, Findus or Ross,
Or just plain Bird's-Eye?

There are mussels and cockles
Scallops and whelks
Sardines, mackerels
Oysters and squid.
Pilchards, salmon,
Haddock and plaice,
Cod, coley, sole and skate;
There's even a fish called slid.

Look at the lobster,
The prawns and the shrimps,
Kippers, herrings
Dover sole, lemon sole
Brown and rainbow trouts
Shark steaks, swordfish
With very long snouts.
Jamaican snappers,
Whitebait and sprats.
Not much on them,
Even for cats!

Then on its own
Or sometime in sticks;
Even professionally dressed;
Comes the regal crab.
Making the dour monkfish
Sound positively drab!

Thinking of medieval monasteries,
Is Friar,
Latin, for Fish-cook?
And was Friday named for fish?
Has it always been spelt
With an I,
Or should it be Fryday,
Spelt with a Y?

Sod it,
I'll just have pasta!


Dusti Rodes (2003)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Reflections on the demise of  a Neighbour

Everywhere here
Is full up with junk
That isn't really so.
The building of a couple's lifetime.
These possessions that are left
Are all there is to show.

The winged ducks
Pots and pans
Brooms and mops
The crystal decanter with its glasses
Projector and screen
Slides taken of foreign mountain passes
Planes and trains
Books on stone polishing, birds, gardening and roses
Videos and stills of Formula One heroes
Transfixed in winning poses
Sewing machine, curtains
Cups and saucers
Things that should have been handed on
To beloved sons and daughters
That never materialised.

The log box, embellished in brass
Figures of snails and owls
Made in Caithness Glass
Squirrels, dogs and hedgehogs
Porcelain men and women
Music boxes that play tunes
While in the cutlery drawers
Fish knives, glass rolling pin
Even silver apostle spoons
The collection of records, cd's and tapes
Recorded by artistes, many long gone
A multitude of stereos and tape decks
To choose to play them on.

Clocks and timers
Wallets and watches
TV and twin tub
Clothes airer and spin dryer
Pencils, pens and paper (by the ream)
Plastic bags in all sizes
Enough for several lifetimes
Drills and saws
Fishing tackle
Fly, sea and coarse
Full blown sou'wester sailing suit
And around in the garage
Long wader boots
An iron gate
Wrought with his own hand
All serve to measure
The mark of the man.

Dusti Rodes (2004)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

A Week Away

A week away
A cottage in the Cotswolds
Solitary single socks
All in a line
On parade

Hands like hooks
Feet that throb
Barms and breezes
In Blackpool

Fortunes found and told
Tramlines
Scarring the seascape
Soaring seagulls
Hawk-like hands
Flaying feet

Seagulls that screech
Mayhem in Mablethorpe
Being Stumped in Boston
As to which way to go
Kiss me quick
Squeeze me slow hats

For edible orifices
Wonka's Willies
Trams travelling
Towards the Tower
And down the Golden Mile
From Fleetwood

North and South Piers
Sandcastles
Big and small
Towards Town
Postcard pictures
Picture postcards

Pencil drawings
By computer
The Mere at Marton
Limousines
And lycra-clad mirth-makers

Mobster's metal machine
Made from a Mini
National Savings & Investments building
Blocking the breeze
And the light
Standing in it's shadow
Comfortable caravans

Laughter from Leighton
Jokes from Jamie
Sparkling grape juice
All the way from Grimsby
Via the M18

Panoramic views 
From the highest motorway
In Britain
Deep dales
High Pennine peaks
In Yorkshire

Rain and sunshine
Traffic build-ups
In Blackburn
Blues in Burnley
Families fighting

Four-pint pitchers
Of foaming ale
Mussels and whelks
Oysters and orange squash
Cockles and crabs

People driving
Dangerously long miles
Without falling faint
Of fatigue
Passion in the Pennines
The castle moat

Golden sands
Tilting telegraph poles
Going up
And coming down
Steep steps
To silver sand

Shorelines stretching
As far as the eye
Can see
Whirling wind turbines
Whitewashed windmills
Scattered over the Northwest frontier

Unfurled flags
Flying furiously
In a westerly wind
Cod and curry sauce
Pen'orth o'scraps
And pots of mushy peas
Wrapped in writing

Mablethorpe Messenger
Blackpool Gazette
Cotswold Courier
Yesterday's news
Today's chip wrappers
Tomorrow's waste.


Dusti Rodes (2006)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Picking up the Pieces

The wind ripped up my roses,
Tore down the tomatoes,
Mangled the mint;
Crucified the coriander,
And the carrots.
Belted the beans,
Both French and Runner.
Obliterated the onions,
Lashed the lettuces;
Bruised the beetroots.

The mighty sunflowers sagged,
And the potato heads were
Pulverised to pulp.
As for the apple blossom,
It wilted with the weather.
The snap-dragons snapped,
The foxgloves fought well;
But only went a couple of rounds;
Till they too, joined the lupins on the ground.
The hollyhocks held their heads up,
When even the willow waivered.

And I am left,
Picking up the pieces.


Dusti Rodes (2006)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Postcard from Spain

The deep blue Med,
Bleeding red,
With green seaweed.

Ten thousand immigrant flies,
Travelling in on the wings
Of the Sirocco;
From north Morocco.

The power of the Siesta Sun,
Making the sand in my shoe hot.

Luscious lips, not bruised
Neither battered nor burnt,
Grappling with grapefruits.

Paradise Beach,
Paraded with parasol palms;
Waves breaking
On a wind-kissed shore.

I may be bathing later,
I am still not sure.

A lone bathing beauty,
From the Lone Star state,
Ear to the phone.
Southern Belle;
Listening to Western Bell.

Had to go and see
My mountain,
Standing stark
In darkest Dakota.

Aqui,Casas de Lujo.
Here, Luxury Houses.
Cornish Cream,
Mandarin Palace.

Urban graffiti
In an idyllic setting.
Perfect paradox.
Jet plane trucking
Leaving tyre tracks
In the bright blue sky.

Sun-kissed shingle.
Sitting on a man-made rock,
The sea has shaped
To blend in with the shoreline.
Concrete clusters;
Indistinguishable,
From indigenous icons

Seaweed green, but yesterday,
Bleached red,
By the unforgiving sun today.
Granite granules,
Marble monolinths.
Sculptured saline symbols.

Yellow bouys bobbing,
Effortlessly.
Looking like a line of sweet corn,
Positioned precariously
On a willow patterned plate.

To my right,
A multitude of people,
To my left,
A hundred more.
But I sit here,
Surrounded by the solitude of silence.

Alone, with only my thoughts,
For company.
'Cept for the gentle breeze,
Whispering words of untold wisdom.
Gleaned from eons of eavesdropping,
On its many invisible travels
Around the globe.

The unseen listener of many conversations,
Keeper of Confidences,
Storer or Secrets,
Librarian of Lies,
Treasurer of Truths.
Spreading the gospel of God,
By the Mediterranean Sea.

I went away
And wrote.

Warm winds,
Helicopter hovering,
Gentle gyrations.
Drenched dog,
Bedraggled by brine.
Dappled writing,
Caused by the sun
Through the brim
Of my hat.

Beach-combing bum,
Scouring the shoreline,
With a plastic bag,
because of the hole
In my pocket.

Gone is the moment
For forced photography,
A thousand photos,
But only one picture.

Stranger on a foreign shore,
Leaving only footprints
In the sands;
Taking nothing
But memories.

Beached rowboats;
Wooden rafts,
Made from discarded
Wine crates.

Dusti Rodes (2002)